The 5 am club

—H.G. Wells
The Roman sun rose even higher as the three companions gazed over the
rooftops and at the Vatican. The streets were now noisy. The Eternal City had
come to life.
Again, the titan’s hand went up into the air. Again, one could see another
assistant appearing out of nowhere. This time a man who appeared to be in his
early forties ran across the square, stood in its center and pulled out a device
that he spoke into, quickly and loudly. Within a minute, three women with
scarves over their hair—like you would see in those wonderful Italian films of
the fifties—appeared on three sparkling red Vespas. They parked them at the
foot of the Spanish Steps, right by the sculpture of the boat, before
disappearing down Via delle Carrozze.
“Let’s go, people!” exclaimed the billionaire. “It’s time to ride.”
“But what’s this about visiting the dead?” asked the entrepreneur, the
creases on her forehead reawakened and her arms now crossed.
“Trust me. Hop on your scooter. And follow me,” the billionaire
instructed.
The three companions wound their way through the ancient streets of
Rome. Even the most unknown church or innocuous obelisk left them in a
dreamy state of awe. The sunshine was dazzling now as both the Romans and
the tourists filled the boulevards. The city felt so alive. In one square they
passed, a remarkably talented opera singer with a man standing next to her to
collect money touched the hearts of bystanders by singing like she had no
tomorrow. As the billionaire, the entrepreneur and the artist continued their
trek along the roads of Rome, they saw yet another surreal sight: The Pyramid
of Cestius, built between 
18
and 
12
BC
as a tomb.

---

“An Egyptian-style pyramid in the heart of The Eternal City.
Unbelievable,” thought the artist as he tried to keep his eyes on the avenues.
Soon they were out of the city walls. The billionaire was still leading. The
entrepreneur noticed, for the first time all morning, that the back of his t-shirt
carried the wise words of Benjamin Franklin, one of the founding fathers of
the United States, who said, “The early morning has gold in its mouth.” And,
on the back of his helmet was printed lettering that read, “Rise First. Die
Last.”
“This man is a marvel,” she thought. “One of a kind.” The entrepreneur
knew this sensational adventure would soon be coming to an end. But she
hoped Mr. Riley would remain in her life. She not only had grown to admire
him. She felt she needed him.
They rode for a while and then the billionaire motioned that they should
stop on an eerily desolate side street. After they parked the scooters, without
saying a word, he beckoned his students to follow him, past a stone bust of
the great Roman military general Julius Caesar, down a series of stairs and
into a dark and dusty tunnel.
“Where the heck are we?” asked the artist. Beads of sweat had formed on
the delicate skin under his eyes. Imagine you were right there with these three
human beings. And just picture how the artist looked at this moment.
“We’re in the catacombs,” announced the billionaire. “This is where the
ancient Romans buried their dead. All these subterranean passageways are
burial grounds—cemeteries—that date from the second to the fifth century.”
“And why are we here?” questioned the entrepreneur.
“I brought you to this crypt to make a point,” stated the billionaire in his
usual warm tone.
At that instant, the sound of footsteps could be heard, coming from the
end of the tunnel. The artist glanced at the entrepreneur, eyes wide open.
The billionaire didn’t say a word. The footsteps could be heard growing
closer. And more forceful.
“I don’t have a good feeling,” commented the entrepreneur.
The footsteps continued as the hazy light of a candle struck a decrepit wall
of the catacomb. Then the whole place went quiet.
A lone figure slowly emerged, holding a tall candle and with a hood over
his head, the kind monks wear. No words were exchanged. It was all
extremely mysterious. The intruder stood before the three friends. The candle
was raised higher—and moved in four circular motions. Then the hood came

---

off.
The face that was revealed was a familiar one. A face that had appeared at
stadiums across the planet. And one that had inspired many millions to do
amazing work, accomplish epic dreams and lead legendary lives.
It was The Spellbinder.
“My God, you scared me,” the artist said, still sweating profusely.
“Sorry. Stone told me to come down here. I got a little lost,” apologized
The Spellbinder. “Extraordinary place, these catacombs. It’s a little creepy in
here, though,” he added, looking healthy, happy and relaxed.
“Hey, buddy,” declared the billionaire as he hugged his adviser and best
friend. “Thanks for showing up.”
“Of course,” The Spellbinder replied. “Well, let me get straight to the
insights you wanted me to share with these two. You know I always come to
play,” he added with a low five like you see pro basketball players giving
teammates after making a successful free throw.
“Mr. Riley asked me to share my thoughts on the value of deep sleep as an
element of sustained elite creativity, peak productivity and rare-air
performance with you. And he told me he wanted to do it down here because
not only are the inhabitants of this crypt in an endless slumber, but science
now confirms that one of the primary ways we bring on an early death is by
not sleeping enough.”
“Really?” asked the entrepreneur, folding her arms once again. The light
from the candle disclosed a simple silver engagement ring on a finger.
“No. You guys didn’t,” gushed the billionaire, glee emanating from his
raspy voice. He did a quick, quirky dance move he hadn’t done before.
“We did,” the entrepreneur and the artist responded, together.
“And you’re both invited to our wedding. It’ll be small, but special,” the
artist added.
“You’re welcome to have the ceremony on my beach in Mauritius,”
offered the billionaire. “Heck, I’ll treat you two cats by handling all costs. For
you both and for your families and for all of your friends. The whole thing’s
all on me. It’s the least I can do for you two new members of The 5 
AM
Club.
You trusted a crazy-looking old man. You came on this wild odyssey. You’ve
been open to all the teachings. You’ve been doing the work. You two are my
heroes.”
The billionaire let out an urgent cough. Perhaps it was from the dust of the

---

passageway. He then placed three fingers against his chest—right where his
heart sat. And coughed again.
“You okay?” asked the entrepreneur, unfolding her arms and touching one
of his muscular shoulders.
“Yes.”
“So,” said The Spellbinder, “let me offer some insights on why it’s not
only the calibration of the first hour of your day that’s mission essential for
leadership excellence and exponential productivity